Lord, it is time. Let the great summer go,Lay your long shadows on the sundials,And over harvest piles let the winds blow.

Command the last fruits to be ripe;Grant them some other southern hour,Urge them to completion, and with powerDrive final sweetness to the heavy grape.

Who's homeless now, will for long stay alone.No home will build his weary hands,He'll wake, read, write letters long to friendsAnd will the alleys up and downWalk restlessly, when falling leaves dance.

The following text is the translation of Johann Heinrich Voß' poem „Der Herbsttag“:

"The autumn day

The trees stand unloaded to the fruit,And yellow foliage drifts away in the valley;The stubblefield in light threadGleams in the lower midday beam.The bird’s swarm wheels, and moves;The cattle demands for the stable, and fleeThe meagre meadows, paled from the rime.

Oh go on the gentle scabbard dayOf the year finally out;And call it summer day and carryThe last hardly found bunch.Soon clouds rise, and blackly behind itThe storm, and his enjoying, the winter,And wraps in flakes field and house.

A wise man, dear ones, snatchesthe joys in over-fleeing,Receives what comes unsurprised,And picks the flowers, because they bloom.And if the flowers have also disappeared;So stands at the winter stove entwinedIts festival cup with evergreen.

Still drily leads through valley and hillThe long been familar summer path.Only reddishly hangs on the water levelThe tree that green you recently saw.Yet greens the field of the winter grain;Yet greens with red of the hawthornsAnd spill berries, our bed for the night!

So quietly recumbent in the warm sun,We see the coloured field upward,And there, on black fallow ploughing,With lust whistling, the field man:The crows in fresh furrow swarmAfter the plough, and scream and make a noise;And steamingly the horse team drags.

Nature, how nicely in every dress!Still in the dying dress as nicely!It mixes gentle joy in melancholy,And smiles watering still in the walking.You, wilted foliage, that shivers down,You little flower, lisps: not mourned!We will more beautifully rise!“

If this last derivation. to humanities" .reluctant return to the underworld ,regressively human quest, remaining only as merely another journey into the abyss, a journey more formidable then any outward expansion to newer and newer open land , then its not that they will be stymied in their efforts, but that within the scope and context of their struggle , they will be met by limitations in recognizing a continuum of laws and identities as available sources of useful energy.